


Short Snippets

by The_Oversharing_Skeptic



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24799618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Oversharing_Skeptic/pseuds/The_Oversharing_Skeptic
Summary: A collection of snippets containing different romantic pairings. Will update tags as I add more stories.
Relationships: Dettlaff van der Eretein/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Dettlaff van der Eretein/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Olgierd von Everec, hints at pre-slash - Relationship, pre-slash - Relationship
Comments: 39
Kudos: 136





	1. Regis/Geralt

Geralt watched as Regis whispered to the crow.

He could feel his lips pulling into a smile as he watched the vampire. The witcher was trying his best not to admit it to himself, but even now he had to admit that  _ maybe  _ he was a little bit in love with his friend.

The crow flew away and with it, Geralt’s musings.

Regis approached him with a smile, holding onto his satchel in the endearing way he always did. Geralt stood from his napping spot and met the vampire halfway.

“Ever vigilant, even in his sleep,” Regis remarked, “Quite vampire-like, in fact. Are you absolutely certain they don’t administer a few of our genes during the Trial of the Grasses?”

Geralt shook his head and smiled.

“Appreciate the compliment,” Geralt said, “Got anything for me?”

As Regis explained that his crows had indeed seen a spotted wight, Geralt allowed himself a moment to take in the vampire. Even after spending time with him and knowing, in his mind, that Regis was there and alive- he still found it difficult to believe. Regis looked older and worn but he was still Regis. He was still witty and kind and handsome.

_ No _ , Geralt thought,  _ you can’t think like that…he’s your friend. _

“..hmm, I recall a riddle in regards to the house….something to do with a curse perhaps—Geralt?”

_ How would you even tell him?  _ Geralt thought.

“Geralt….are you listening?”

_ No, no I can’t tell him. _

“Geralt, this is incredibly rude…”

_ I’ll keep it to myself, that’s the best way. _

“ _ Geralt _ ”

Geralt blinked.

“Huh, what?”

Regis looked at him, unamused.

“You were somewhere else, my friend,”

“Oh,” Geralt said sheepishly, rubbing his neck, “Sorry, I was thinking —“

“Crown for your thoughts?” Regis asked, shifting closer. Geralt swallowed.

“Oh, um, it’s nothing,” Geralt looked everywhere but at Regis, feeling like he had been caught in a lie. Regis tilted his head and chuckled.

“It most certainly is something if it managed to take your attention away from the matter at hand. I have never known you to be aloof, my friend,” Regis smiled — he was very close, leaning into Geralt’s space with a concerned expression. Geralt sighed — he eyes flitted towards Regis’ lips then back to the vampire’s bright eyes.

Regis remained silent for a moment, contemplatively. Geralt held his breath, unsure of what he was waiting for.

And then Regis smirked.

“Oh,” he whispered, “I see”.

Geralt turned his face away but Regis’ hand reached out to his cheek, a soft caress.  Geralt froze on the spot. Geralt looked at Regis and caught the vampire looking at his lips.

“Is this what I believe it is?” The vampire asked softly. He looked at the witcher’s face, questioning.

Geralt nodded, “I hope so” and he surged forward.


	2. Dettlaff/Geralt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Positive! Thanks for being the coolest <3  
> You can check out their works on Ao3 at Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus

Dettlaff stared at his witcher while the man in question was conducting his afternoon exercises.  Months of half-retirement did not slow the witcher down— if anything it seemed to only push the witcher to continuously exert himself.

“I can’t get soft,” Geralt stated when Dettlaff commented on it, “Not when I have someone to come back home to”.

Dettlaff smiled and crossed the path from the house to Geralt’s training area. He leaned against a nearby tree and openly watched the witcher. After a few moments, Geralt turned to look at the vampire and smirked.

“Like what you see?” He teased half-heartedly.

Dettlaff quirked an eyebrow and grinned, “Very much”.

Geralt turned his face away in embarrassment which only made Dettlaff grin harder. He approached the witcher and touched his cheek, meeting the man’s gaze with open adoration.

“You are very beautiful, my little witcher”

“Shut up,” Geralt said, without any real heat. Dettlaff chuckled.

“I would very much like to draw you, my love,” Dettlaff murmured. Geralt rolled his eyes and shook his head,

“You want to draw this,” he said, waving a hand in front of his face and scarred torso. Dettlaff frowned and inched closer to his witcher.

“Nothing would bring me more pleasure,” he said seriously and that seemed to convince the man because he stared for a second before shrugging.

“Fine, just gotta finish this,” Geralt said, stepping away from Dettlaff's embrace to continue his exercises. Dettlaff nodded and headed back towards the estate.

—

An hour later, Geralt was bathed and reclined on a bench facing the grounds while Dettlaff sat on a stool, his stencil and parchment in front of him. Geralt shifted in his seat which caused the vampire to shake his head.

“Geralt—”

“Yes?”

“Stop that, if you please”

A sigh.

“Fine...”

Dettlaff continued drawing for almost ten minutes before the witcher interrupted him again. A new personal record for the witcher.

“How much longer?” The witcher in question asked. Dettlaff chose to ignore this.

“ _ Dettlaff _ …”

He sighed, “Yes, my little witcher?”

Geralt flushed and seemed to forget his question; Dettlaff grinned as he continued working. Geralt grumbled, “Not to sound ungrateful but why can’t you just use your memory to draw?” Dettlaff looked up.

“It is simpler this way,” the vampire smirked, “better to catch the light as it dances in your eyes or the particular pout of your lips —“

“Alright,” Geralt groaned, looking away but maintaining his position, “I get it”.

Dettlaff enjoyed watching the witcher. He truly was a handsome man and it gave Dettlaff great pleasure knowing that he could call the witcher his own. He had been serious when he said he liked drawing Geralt — to see the man contrasted with the dying afternoon light, relaxed, contemplative, gorgeous, was a sight to behold. Dettlaff only hoped that his art could capture the grace in the Witcher’s form and the immense adoration the vampire felt towards him.

An hour passed and Geralt remained still. When Dettlaff finished he raised the sketch up and inspected it. Geralt stood up and rubbed his bad knee.

“Any good?” The witcher asked while stretching. Dettlaff rolled his eyes.

“See for yourself, my love...”

Geralt took the sketch from him and stared at it for several minutes. His expression was frozen on his face and Dettlaff began to worry when the witcher made no move to speak. The vampire shifted from foot to foot, looking at the ground.

“Do you not like it? I had hoped you might enjoy it—“

He stopped, Geralt’s hand rested on his cheek and the witcher was looking at him with a strange expression.

Geralt didn’t say anything, instead he closed the distance between them and kissed Dettlaff softly.

“I like it,” the witcher said, sounding breathless. Dettlaff planted another kiss on his lips and smiled. The vampire wrapped his arms around his witcher, careful not to crumble the sketch and held him tightly. They could stay out here for a little while longer.


	3. Implied Regis/Geralt

The crypt was silent, save for the movement of a few mice. 

On the floor lay a book, tattered and haphazardly opened. Candles lay on the ground among an strange, otherworldly symbol. In the middle of it, was a grinning man. The vampire spoke first.

“You should have never taken him away from me” the vampire said, looking at the man — or whatever he was, in the eyes. The man in question stood with an air of amusement coloring his features. He paced the symbol but tread carefully on it’s edges. 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t come to collect? A contract is binding and once fulfilled, must have it’s rewards” Gaunter smirked, he twirled a hand in front of his face, a spoon appeared and he fiddled with it between his fingers, “I always collect, vampire“.

Regis bristled, he approached the man and stood directly in front of his face, eyes red with anger, claws extended. He kept outside of the insignia, but the only space that stood between them was a line drawn on the floor. 

“You know,” Regis began, voice low, “what I am and what I am capable of”.

“I do” Gaunter shrugged.

“And you know I wasn’t dead”.

“Ah, yes,” Gaunter nodded, clearly amused, “But Geralt didn’t”.

Regis growled, eyes blazing. He looked ready to lunge at O’Dimm but O’Dimm didn’t seem to care or mind. He merely clasped his hands together and continued to stare at Regis.

“You are at an impasse. You, bright as you are, know what I am and what I am capable of, as you neatly put it. Knowing this, you don’t know how to gain the upper hand,” Gaunter explained. Regis said nothing, for once in his life he was at a loss for words. O’Dimm had spoken truly, the vampire didn’t know what to do. 

Gaunter chuckled and Regis hated him for it. O’Dimm waved the spoon and produced a long piece of parchment. 

“You know what the terms are,” he smirked, “ Make your wish”. 


	4. Regis/Dettlaff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For TheDevilishlyAngelic - check out her original character Dessi, we stan a cat school witcher.

Regis dies in the heat of white flames and Geralt dies as destiny intended. 

Regis regenerates to the sound of Dettlaff's voice bringing him from the in-between to the land of the living. It was cold and silent and filled with too many thoughts. He had felt fear without understanding what fear was. He had lived it, swan in it, and only when consciousness became reality did he realize how disturbed by it he was. 

He was silent for months. 

He could not speak but his face said enough. Dettlaff could read the pain in it without needing the words to accompany it. The first thing he asks when he gets his voice back is, “Have you heard news of Geralt of Rivia?”

Dettlaff, who Regis suspects may hold more than platonic feelings, goes on a search for news of the witcher. When he returns, he brings more misery with him. Geralt of Rivia is dead and Regis’ heart cannot take, cannot accept it. 

Regis grieves the only way he knows how. Through silence. 

*

Years pass but to a vampire years are like dust in the wind. 

Regis gets better and regenerates with Dettlaff’s help. They move to Toussaint now that Regis is almost nearing full regeneration. He is greyed and sickly but otherwise he is similar to his old self. And then Dettlaff becomes quieter, more resigned, more prone to anger. Regis asks him for answers, wants to know why his kind friend seems distraught. But he doesn’t get answers and the worry that has gnawed the back of his mind becomes a constant companion. Regis rarely sees Dettlaff anymore and begins looking for answers.

*

He doesn't find them.

Regis ingrains himself in society. He has never been one to be shy or antisocial and within a year is accepted by many of Toussaint's occupants, including the Duchess Anna Henrietta. He enjoys his small popularity and continues his career as a barber surgeon. It is nice to be distracted in this way when his closest friend is no longer around. 

Dettlaff visits him one night, without announcing himself, and embraces Regis before the vampire can get a word in. They stand, holding each other, for a long time. 

“I apologize,” Dettlaff says, in a broken voice, “I have been distracted and I have been neglecting you”. Regis pulls him in closer, heart aching for his friend. 

“I understand,” he whispers,” I simply want to help you”. Dettlaff pulls away from him and looks at him with those impossibly blue eyes. Regis offers him a shy smile and Dettlaff returns its easily. 

“How are you feeling?” Dettlaff asks, because of course he does. He puts others before himself without a thought or consideration. Regis shrugs.

“Improving well enough,” Regis says halfheartedly because what else is there to say? Only time can heal his wounds. Dettlaff nods in understanding and gives Regis an adoring look- one that leaves Regis wondering how platonic Dettlaffs feelings are. 

And, if Regis is being honest with himself, how platonic his own feelings are. 

Vampires cannot read minds despite popular myth, but in that moment Regis swears that perhaps Detlaff can because the vampire is cupping his cheek with a determined look on his face. 

“It gladens me to see you healthier,” Dettlff says. 

“All because of you,” Regis says, because it's true. Dettlaff searches his face. 

“I would do it for you all over again if I had to”. Regis can’t help but chuckle at the bluntness, at the feeling with which Dettlaff says it. Dettlaff has an intensity to him that is endearing. 

“Hopefully you won’t have to again, my friend,” Regis says, grinning. Dettlaff looks at his lips and back at his eyes. 

“Nonetheless,” Dettlaff says and swoops in. 

He captures Regis’ lips and his heart in one movement. 


	5. Pre-slash Emhyr/Geralt

The ball was held to announce , officially, Ciri as the heir to the Nilfgaardian throne. Geralt, because he loved his daughter, had accepted the invitation. Even if it meant he had to get shaved and dressed in doublets. 

Gods, he hated balls.

But there was good food and wine and Ciri seemed at ease and happy while dancing with Morvran so perhaps he could enjoy the evening for her. He stood in a far off corner, watching the rest of the room partake. Geralt didn’t think it was wise to try out his Nilfgaardian at the party, for fear of embarrassing Ciri, so he decided to stand in silence and watch. 

Someone took the space next to him and leaned towards him.

“I take it you are enjoying yourself, witcher?” Geralt turned towards Emhyr and shrugged.

“Doesn’t really matter if I’m enjoying myself,” he said, truthfully, “As long as Ciri is happy”. Emhyr didn’t immediately answer. They both knew Geralt was discussing more than just the party. When Geralt arrived, his audience had not been requested by the Emperor, so they hadn’t had an opportunity to talk about Ciri choosing to be an Empress. Geralt had enough time to get used to the idea and even found it in himself to understand it. He didn’t have to explain himself to Emhyr and didn’t expect that he needed to. 

“I am…gratified to hear it,” the Emperor finally said. His face was a impassive wall - expressionless save for his calculating eyes. Geralt took a sip from his goblet, “Didn’t think it would matter to you”. 

Emhyr sighed. Geralt couldn’t tell if it was due to annoyance or something else.

“Cirilla is important to me and your opinion is important to her. You may deduce the rest,” Emyr said. His tone didn’t have it’s usual biting quality. If anything, he sounded as though he felt he had revealed too much. Geralt looked at him curiously; Emhyr was looking at the gathering and seemed tense. 

It suddenly dawned on Geralt that this was Emhyr…being _friendly_.

The thought was so foreign to him that he just stared at Emhyr for a solid minute. 

“Witcher,” Emhyr turned, exasperated and grimacing,“is my face suddenly abhorrent to you?”

Geralt didn’t answer immediately. He was making up his mind about something. 

He took a breath and thought to _hell with it_. 

Geralt grinned and shook his head, “No. I was wondering though…” Emhyr quirked an eyebrow, “Wanna play gwent?”


	6. Regis/Geralt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is both a gift for @CorvoBianco and also heavily inspired by them. Please check out their wonderful stories!

A few days ago Geralt had accompanied Regis to Tesham Mutna. 

While Geralt fought off the vampires and the urge to let Regis go the vampire had said…some colorful things. Geralt wanted to blame it on the bloodlust...wanted to blame it on Regis’ state of mind at the time, but the words just didn’t escape his thoughts.

_“Oh my love, please allow me one touch—“_

_“They do not deserve you, let me out and I will slay them for you_ _”_

_“Oh, little witcher, wait till I get my hands on you”_

They had too much to do, too much to discuss for Geralt to question Regis about it afterwards. And the worst part was, he really needed to know where that had come from. Because Geralt already knew his feelings and had resigned himself to never having them reciprocated, but this incident led to possibilities he never imagined. The witcher gave the vampire reprieve- Geralt knew he needed it. He let some days pass before visiting the vampire again, wanting Regis to get as much rest as possible. Dettlaff could wait and Regis’ regeneration was still ongoing. 

Geralt approached the cemetery tentatively, his steps light, hardly making a sound. He knew Regis could hear him a mile off but something inside him was nervous. As desperately as he wanted answers he also feared what those answers might be. He took a deep breath when he approached the crypt entrance and walked in. Fumes engulfed the crypt, had it not been for his witcher senses, Geralt would have knocked a few ornaments and furniture over. As it stood, he comfortably made his way over to the vampire who seemed to be experimenting in his lab. Regis looked up, a mixture of gladness and anxiety written on his face.

“Hello, my friend,” he said softly. Geralt smiled his way and was about to speak when the vampire interrupted him.

“I must—“ Regis paused and collected himself, “I must apologize for what happened at Tesha Mutna. I simply cannot meet your eyes without expressing my deepest apologies for the incident. First, for not letting on how much the bloodlust would affect me and secondly, for putting you through what must have been a terribly embarrassing dialogue”. Geralt stared at him, unable to come up with a reasonable response immediately. Regis looked at him, fear growing with every passing second. Geralt sighed and shook his head. 

“I…didn’t mind,” he confessed because what else could he say? _Actually Regis, when you said that, I wanted to rip the cage open and let you have your way with me then and there?_

No…that wouldn’t work. 

Regis gave him a hard stare before scoffing, “Geralt, please do not humor me. I know what I said must have been unwelcome, at best—“

“No,” Geralt said firmly, “it was fine Regis. I liked it”. Regis now seemed completely out of his element.

“Geralt…that is impossible. You have never shown an inkling of attraction to me and your bound to Yennefer-“

“Yen and I aren’t together anymore. We broke the spell. And, besides,” Geralt continued, “you can’t tell me you really believe that I’m not attracted to you. Regis…you’re _you,_ ” he said, as though that explained everything. Regis didn’t speak; he looked at Geralt with wide eyes and an open mouth, fangs peeking out. Geralt didn't elaborate further; he wasn’t sure what else to say and was afraid that if he did say something else it would startle the vampire away. So they stood, silently and awkwardly, for a few beats. 

Regis, unsurprisingly, was the first to break the silence.

“What…exactly do you mean, Geralt?” Regis asked breathlessly. 

“It means,” Geralt sighed, “that I’ve been attracted to you for a long time and…more than that. A lot more than just that”. Geralt averted his eyes, heat rushing to his cheeks. He was glad the mutations didn’t allow him to blush because he knew he would’ve been a beet red otherwise. When he chanced a glance back at Regis, the vampire was standing directly in front of him, having moved soundlessly. Geralt, used to such things by now, simply looked into the vampire’s bright eyes. 

“More?” Regis whispered, glancing briefly at the witcher’s lips. Geralt shuddered.

“Y-Yeah,” he said, anticipation gripping his chest as Regis inched closer. 

“It is more for me as well,” Regis confessed before claiming Geralt’s lips. 

The kiss was chaste, tentative in it’s approach as though Regis was testing the waters of this realization. But then Geralt gasped, succumbing to the moment, to the feel of Regis’ lips against his and Regis took that as an opportunity to depeen the kiss. Regis languidly licked into Geralt’s mouth, tearing a moan from within the witcher’s chest. Geralt grabbed Regis’ shirt and pulled their bodies, already mere centimeters apart, closer still. Regis allowed himself to be pulled and took it further by pushing Geralt against his lab table. Glass rolled to the floor but Geralt found that he didn’t care as he wrapped his arms around Regis’ neck and bit at the vampires bottom lip. The growl that he got in response pushed him further; he teased the vampire’s lips with his tongue, his teeth, and preened at the sounds Regis made in response. Regis’ hands were wrapped possessively on his hips, pulling the witcher against him, pressing their arousal's together.

Regis pulled away, but only a hint. He had a dreamy look on his face that softened Geralt’s heart and made his chest ache.

“I think,” the vampire began, “we should take this somewhere where we will not harm ourselves”. He looked pointedly at the broken glassware and Geralt chuckled.

“Sounds good to me,” he said and allowed Regis to lead him away. 


	7. pre-slash Olgierd/Geralt but it's only hinted at

Olgierd von Everec didn’t know  _ how _ to feel.

After spending years moving from crime to crime, causing mayhem in random villages, chasing feelings that would never appear, he was finally free. His heart was no longer made of stone but his life had blown away, like ashes in the wind.

His wife was gone. Iris, his one true love had died and moved on. And what could he do? What could he become in a life without without her?

He decided he would…move on.

*

His band of bandits dispersed. Years of pillaging gone within a single moment. Olgierd could not find it in himself to continue down that path. The constant reminder of what he did and what he had become was too much; it was better, he reasoned, to simply let go.

So he did.

Olgierd, whose life had been built on extravagances, traveled with only the clothes on his back, his saber, and his coin purse. He didn’t even bother to take a horse. The Continent was long and wide and his legs were strong. He walked and camped wherever he wanted, sitting in silence—contemplating, always contemplating.

He thought about Iris. The regret and agony that never crossed his heart hit him two-fold. It felt as though every moment of forgotten emotion accumulated until it reached this height and beat him with it’s intensity now that he _could_ feel. It was overwhelming. But Olgierd was not a coward, he would endure it and, hopefully, he would be better for it.

*

Time flew by but Olgierd didn’t recognize it’s impermanence.

He had spent so much time as an immortal, he needed to get used to his own mortality again. He didn’t take many risks, more so because he didn’t need to. He took odd jobs on the road, so his coin purse was never empty. He took the main roads, so bandits were never a trouble. It came as quite a shock when he bled for the first time.

He’d taken a job from an old woman in Velen, chopping wood for a meal and a bed for the night. His thoughts had wandered over to Geralt of Rivia when, in the corner of his eye, he spotted a familiar white haired head. His hand slipped, the axe didn’t fall on his foot but he tumbled into recently cut wood and had several splinters and gashes in his hands. The man he had confused for Geralt had looked at him but he didn’t have Geralt’s face or his cat eyes. The old woman patched Olgierd hands, all he could do was stare at the bandages, looking on in confusion at the red tinted cloth.

*

Olgierd's mind became obsessed with the witcher. He couldn’t exactly say why but his thoughts always traveled back to him. It had been a year since the bandit had been freed from Gaunter’s spell. Even less time since he’d made peace with his decisions and their consequences.

He still felt restless. He was starting to think it had to do with Geralt.

The witcher didn’t have any reason to help him. Olgierd had tricked him, manipulated him, thrown him into harm's way and yet…when the decision to save Olgierd’s life had been presented, Geralt had not hesitated. It left Olgierd confused and even angry. At who, he couldn’t tell.

He decided it was high time he got a horse.

*

The loneliness of the road was helped by Olgierd’s new companion, a Nilfgaardian mare affectionately named Strawberry. Even though she couldn’t answer back, Olgierd couldn’t help but make small talk as they traveled. In true Vlodimir fashion, Olgierd kept Strawberry cleaner and healthier than himself.

He’d made up his mind to travel to Nazair. He needed to say one final goodbye. Then and only then would he go searching for the witcher. To find…something he was looking for. Whatever it was.

The Land of Blue Roses was as beautiful as the bards had described it. Fields of ocean blue covered farm lands and plains with the sea a fair distance away. Olgierd travelled to the coast, knowing what he had to do to find peace once and for all.

Salt drenched wind whipped his face from every distance as Olgierd approached the beach. It was quiet save for the sounds of crashing waves against the shore. Olgierd approached the water and sank to his knees. He sank into the sand, staring off into the horizon. He pulled a blue rose from his pocket, bringing it to his lips.

“I’m sorry Iris,” he whispered, “I’m sorry for what we became and what I’ve done. I’m sorry that I didn’t love you like you deserved”. The blue rose, which had never wilted, began to fade. Tears freely fell from his face, collecting on the rose's dried remains. He opened his palm, letting the wind sweep away Iris’s rose. He watched as pieces tumbled in the sand and swam along the ocean’s surface.


End file.
